


Beautiful and Dangerous

by Vani_Loves



Category: Original Work
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:54:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7208573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vani_Loves/pseuds/Vani_Loves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she had a name before, It was tainted by neglect, and false love, and enslavers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The threat of being sold to slavers hung over every child's head, but none more so than Cherry. She tried her hardest, always performed to her limits, never once allowed herself to slip. Still, it wasn't good enough. Her parents would grip her by the arm, dragging her to the darkest parts of town until she broke down and screamed, swearing on her life that she'd do better next time. 

Cherry fell in love with a boy that seemed to hover on shadow's edges, a boy that smelled like sunflower seeds and cigars. He was an incomplete sanctuary, providing temporary relied from the constant pressure with talks of bright futures far away from Areton. He pitched the idea of a true sanctuary once- a camp, of sorts, for young girls like her who were scared of the slavers and were willing to work to achieve their dreams. It seemed too good to be true, and it was.

They took her in at the tender age of 14. Until they grew tired of her and killed her, she belonged to them. She was to be used as much as they liked and in any fashion, from building to carrying drugs, from cleaning to pleasuring the men. Every day was harder than the last, and the feeling of helplessness only grew with every glance and grope. Being the house favourite, every night was a nightmare, and slowly Cherry started to lose herself.

 

When the slaver base went up in flames, Cherry was the first to drop to her knees and thank whoever was listening. She tried to run, to catch up with the others, only to be held back by slavers who were desperately rummaging through the flames for their products and documentation. In a fit of desperation, she clawed out both of his eyes, and then his throat. More of them came, and more of them died. No matter how well armed they were, Cherry had become something inhuman, fighting with every ounce of strength she had, aided by fury and vengeance for her lost innocence.

When the Areton Police Department found her, they assumed she was a feral werewolf, from the way her mouth and hands were coated in dried blood, and how she screamed at them whenever they stood more than 10 feet away from her. If it wasn't for Yolo, they would have put her down. 

 


	2. Yolo Enters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some (very) gratuitous fluffy comfort stuff

Yolo pushed the captain away, a bundle of supplies in his arms. "Let me handle this."

"She's a feral wolf." he said, hands on his hips. "Do you really think you can handle this?" It wasn't so much a declaration of disbelief as it was an actual question; if anyone could soothe a wild animal, it was probably Yolo.

"I doubt she's a werewolf, but yes. Give me half an hour, and if she isn't in the car, you have my permission." Yolo nodded to the snipers, who had relaxed from their position in favour of listening in.

"Alright," the captain sighed, "half an hour."

 

He kneeled and motioned for them to move back, and they did so, giving him a wide berth. This was by far the most violent case, but he treated it no different from the others. 

"Hey." he said softly. "Are you okay?" 

It was a stupid question to ask, of course she wasn't okay, she was shaking and there were tear tracks down her face, making clean lines in the fresh blood, but he asked anyways. If nothing else, it was to provide some sense of calm. 

She shook her head 'no'. He slowly moved to sit, opening the bundle as cautiously as possible. She watched, moving backwards and backing right into a crumbling wall.

"I won't hurt you, promise." he said, laying a blanket on a small wheeled board. "Would you like a blanket? It's pretty cold."

It took a long while for her to do anything besides shake, but she did nod. He pushed the board towards her, and it slowed to a stop just out of her reach. She watched him while she crawled slightly closer, snatching the blanket and scurrying back towards the wall. 

The blanket itself was very big, and very thick, and it wasn't until she was fully wrapped in it that she realised how cold she was, going from the inside of a burning building out to the winter air. She sighed, wishing she could fall asleep right here, but every sense she had screamed that she'd never wake up again. Or worse, wake up to another one of those filthy bastards grunting and sighing over her. She screamed at too many memories to count, all flooding back at once.  
  
"Hey there," Yolo said, loud but soft in tone. "It's okay, they're all gone. They're gone now." He had an urge to go to her and hold her until the crying stopped, until she could speak and tell him about everything that happened, but he repressed it in favour of asking if he could come a little closer.

She whimpered, refusing to look directly in his direction.

"I have water, and some fresh bread. From Granny Doiley. Do you know Gran?" 

 She nodded, glancing his way out of the corner of her eye.

"Then you know how good this bread is. Especially when it's just out of the oven. I can give it to you, if you come closer." He could tell she was tempted by the offer, but it wasn't working to the extent that he'd hoped. Rather than push it, he told her, "I won't touch you without your permission. You don't even have to say anything, I just want to get you away from here and somewhere safer. I just want you to be okay." It was always tough, being methodical and calculating the result of every slight movement and every word, especially when he _did_ just want for people like this to be okay again. 

 She made a move to stand, only to have her legs fail her and fall to the ground again. One hand reached up and made a motion similar to a toddler's, 'pick me up.'

He stood and walked over to her carefully, grabbing her wrist gently and expected her to pull herself up, but with strength he hadn't forseen, she pulled him down and threw her arms around his neck. By instinct, he threw up one arm to signal the rest of him that he was okay, and not to shoot.

"I'm going to pick you up and carry you to the car, okay?" he asked, being careful not to brush her in any way. She was holding him nearly hard enough to choke him, but he didn't dare move until she gave the go-ahead.

It was true what they told him in camp, this job takes a lot of self-control.

She nodded anyways, sobbing quietly into his neck. He hoisted her tiny frame up gently, not just for her sake but because he was genuinely afraid that she would physically shatter with too quick movements. Probably about 85 pounds, including the blanket.

 If he found a slaver, he'd strangle them with his bare hands himself.

 

 

She was pretty quiet the whole ride, sitting in the front seat with him. He had the heater turned up, but she was still shaking. Probably the trauma, he couldn't begin to imagine what they would've done. He'd heard stories, most of them involving children as young as twelve, but they'd recovered toddlers and even infants from the arms of dead girls, and he did mean girls. Not even old enough to be women. There was one image that haunted him, of one that looked like a much younger version of his own mother, about 15, curled around a screaming newborn. She looked so peaceful, so happy, and he would have believed her to be asleep were she not so pale and drenched in her own blood. She'd drawn "Isaac" hastily on her arm.

He grew up well cared for with Gran and later with foster parents, but it ate at him how he could've had a mother if they had the resources to find them both sooner. If they had the resources, people like the girl next to him wouldn't be shaking and crying, they'd be at home. 

He hated it. He hated himself for letting things like this happen, even if he had no control over these things. 


	3. To Doiley's House We Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more gratuitous fluffy comfort stuff

"We have to, ah, document you. Take pictures, I mean." he said, looking at her in the passenger seat. "I can get a female officer in, if that's more comfortable for you. After we're all done, I'll take you to Gran's so she can take care of you for a while."

He didn't expect her to say anything, and she didn't. Mostly, she just stared out the window, fiddling with her hands.

When they got to the station, someone joked that she didn't even have to get undressed to take pictures. Yolo shot him a dirty look, one arm around her shoulders, leading her into a smallish space, almost closet-like. 

"Four pictures, some paperwork, and then we'll get you dressed and fed and you can finally get some good sleep." he said, low so only she could hear. He held his hand out for the blanket, looking away from her, for her sake.

Officer Tonra was on the other side of the glass, about to take the pictures. Yolo stood outside the door and could hear her talking to the girl through the door.

"Hey, beautiful. Can you face the camera for me? Feet shoulder-width apart. Just like that, good job. So you're from Areton? Do you have family here, someone to come home to? Well, you've always got Granny Doiley. Even if it seems like no one loves you, she does. To the side, you're doing great."

No friends, no family. Even if he'd never experienced it himself, he understood how lonely and hopeless these people felt. He knew how many of them had attempted suicide, after a few days of trying to rebuild themselves from the ground up.He'd stood at too many bedsides, held too many hands, heard too many steady heartbeats turn to flatlines. All his hard work, for it to end up rotting in a cemetery that already held too many names. 

"All done. Thank you, Yolo will have some clothes that'll hopefully fit you. Have a good night."

He entered, his eyes looking everywhere but her naked body. In his arms were the smallest set of prisoner garb he could find, that would still probably need to be rolled up. 

After he felt the weight lifted from his arms, he stood with his back turned towards her, holding the blanket behind himself whilst she got dressed. She tapped him on the shoulder when he was done, and he wrapped her up tight before they headed off to the office.

He found her some old magazines to read, while they sat in the chairs outside. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. He briefly saw what looked like a very large heart-shaped burn mark, fairly recent. A slaver mark could barely be made out, and he looked away. For a while, it was just the sound of turning pages, pen on paper, and the two of them breathing. It was calm, and quiet, for which he was thankful. In the old days, when he was new, they dragged in naked survivors, kicking and screaming. The ones they didn't outright kill, that is. He was very thankful that he was such a trustworthy person, that the captain had allowed the numerous policy changes he proposed. 

"Officer Frian?"

"Here." He said, standing slowly so she had a chance to sit up. Private Williams handed him a clipboard and a file. "Tell James I won't be in the barracks tonight-"

"He knows. After the call went out, he told me to tell you to take the time you need, and that he's up for doing a shift if it's needed."

"Probably not, we're going to Gran's-"

"That bad, eh?" she said, hands on her hips.

"Yeah." he whispered. "But she's there, and I'm sure some of the others will be there, so there'll be plenty of that."

Williams smiled. "Bring me back some of those rolls, yeah?"

"Of course." he smiled back, giving her a peck on the cheek. Not exactly protocol, but nothing ever was with these guys.

 

She filled the form as best she could, and he learned her full name was Vanessa Francis Lovell. Only 17, but he did recognise the surname. It was on a sign somewhere, above a doorway, he was pretty sure. Somewhere on the third level. A terrible thought dawned upon him- what if they sold her to the slavers to fund a business? It wasn't uncommon among ground-level merchants, especially ones with many children. She probably said she didn't have family here, because they wouldn't have wanted her back. 

"Let me get that for you, lass." He said, taking the papers and pen from her, walking over and sliding hem under the glass.   

"Thanks. Have a good night, Yolo."

"You too, Hayley. Don't work too hard."

 

The trip to Gran's was as uneventful as the trip to the station, save for the fact that they walked hand-in-hand, and it was now snowing. When they got out, Yolo took off his hoodie and put it on her, pulling up the hood and drawing the strings tight. She made a noise of disapproval, the first he'd heard from her, and grinned. 

"Come on, it's a short walk anyways."

 

Gran answered the door, in a flour-coated apron and gravy-covered hands. Whatever was in the kitchen, it was the best thing she'd ever smelled. "Yolo! My boy. And who is this?"

"This is another survivor. Sorry for the short notice, but-"

"Nonsense. My door is always open. Come in, both of you, it's freezing out. I just finished making dinner, have a seat at the table, wherever you like."

They did so, and Gran returned with five bowls and plates, placing two of each in front of her and Yolo, the rest around the table. 

"Lacey! Brendon! Dinner's ready!" She called. Yolo stood to help Gran, something he'd gotten used to over the many years of visiting. They brought a plate of fresh rolls, a bowl of mashes potatoes, another full of mixed vegetables, another smaller bowl with homemade jam, and finally a pot of stew that made her mouth water. 

Yolo poured some into her bowl, and she immediately ate a spoonful. It was hot, probably too hot for her to have just shoved it in her mouth, but she didn't even care. It was delicious, and she let out an appreciative moan. Without even thinking, she picked up the bowl to drink it all at once, but Yolo took it from her and set it back down.

"Careful, I know you're hungry, but you'll get a stomachache if you eat too fast."

 

Dinner was amazing. She'd spent so long living off tiny, cheap, flavourless ration packets. She thought she may be daydreaming, or hallucinating, like the little matchstick girl. Either way, she scarfed down half a bowl of stew and a roll with jam, and even a couple spoonfuls of vegetables. Yolo had never seen survivors eat like this- it usually took a lot of coaxing and sometimes force-feeding, but here she was, enjoying the spread.

She was laying back in her chair, about to fall asleep, when Gran announced that she had made pies earlier that had cooled enough to eat. 

Yolo gasped, looking up from the other half of her bowl, looking towards the kitchen. 

"I've got cherry and lemon, which would you like?" Gran asked, setting the two of them down on the already-crowded table.

"Lemon, please." Yolo said.

"Cherry." she said, to the shock of both Gran and Yolo. She was handed a tiny plate and a fork, with a smile that was genuinely returned.

 

She was led to an empty bed, all made up and ready. Gran had left a small stuffed animal on the bed for her, and it was such a small but appreciated gesture. It was a tiny lion whose mane had all but fallen out, and in some faint memory she could remember Gran joking that it was a lioness now, and that she and the toy had a lot in common.

Maybe Gran would show her the photo album again tomorrow, if she asked.

In the meantime, Yolo sat himself in Gran's favourite rocking chair besides her bed, the same blanket that she'd been carrying earlier draped across his lap. He'd stand guard, like he always did, making sure she didn't run off, but also that no got  _in._

Gran sat on the bed next to her, stroking her hair and wiping away the few tears that ran down her face. "All the doors are locked, so are the windows. You're safe here, Cherry Girl." Gran cooed, tucking a lock behind Cherry's hair. "Rest easy, my love. No one can hurt you anymore."

 


	4. Nightmares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoah there pardner, there's rape stuff ahead. if you're a sensitive fella, skip this bit. there's *some* fluff and then more sad things okbye

"Vanessa, grab me a cold one, would you?"

"Yes, sir." she replied. This was fine, going around, running errands. If this was all, she wouldn't have minded it so much.

Then again, it was never just errands.

Eventually, their faces blended together into one horrible amalgamation. She could never tell who was who, but they didn't care when they were too high to function.

One of them pinched her bum as she passed, but she didn't flinch. 

"Sir." she presented the bottle, and he took it wordlessly.

Someone made a comment about 'work', and they all laughed. Another snapped his fingers, and Vanessa walked towards him.

"Bend over the table." 

"Sir?" she asked, shocked. She knew what he wanted, but she was just a kid, barely 15, she didn't-

He struck her across the face, hard enough to knock her down to the floor. He gripped her by the hair, pulling her up and throwing her over the table. She hit it facefirst, hearing what she assumed to be her nose, crack.

"You don't question me,  _slave!_ "

 He pushed up her dress, laughing as she struggled with the pairs of arms that held her down. 

She screamed herself hoarse, that first time around. All it did was drown out their laughter, it did nothing to stop the feeling of them taking turns raping her, pulling her hair and slapping her ass for fun. She tried to do what they said in the movies, to pretend that she was somewhere else, somewhere nice like a beach or a theatre, but she didn't know what they looked like. Besides, the pain and sound of skin slapping against skin ruined whatever imagery she did managed to come up with.

After they had their fun, they threw her back in with the others. She desperately wished for a scalding hot shower, to wash off their fingerprints and filthy words from her skin. She settled for curling into a ball in her bunk, scratching at the fingertip-shaped marks that formed on her skin until they were angry red patches. No one looked at her, no one spoke, no one even came near her until they were sure she was asleep. It was a long while before the hiccuping sobs stopped.

They were never satisfied, but Vanessa would never let them take anyone else. Some of the girls were even younger than she was, and the older (older, she thought, they were still only  _children_ ) had hollow, empty faces that sometimes still shed tears, but said nothing. Not even a sniffle.

Sometimes, on particularly bad nights, the girls did look hollow and empty, like they had black holes inside their skulls. Like dolls whose eyes had caved in.

They used her, any way they liked. When they forcibly took an older girl, Vanessa bit one of their arms, leaving an impressive gash. They pressed a gun to her head, but she didn't care whether or not they were bluffing. 

"I am the house favourite. It'd be such a pity if I were dead. Then you could only fuck me for a few days, tops, before my corpse got old and gross." she said. It wasn't as much a plea as it was a fact.

They let her go. The bitten slaver died three days later. No one cared.

The smell of spit and sunflower seeds became a lot more prominent as time went on, sometimes overpowering the smell of spilt alcohol and cigars. Sometimes, when they took her, she tried to imagine fields of sunflowers, and that was an image that did work- there were  _tons_ of them outside Granny Doiley's house. They were everywhere, and she remembered laying in those fields with textbooks, studying when the library was too crowded. It smelled like earth and grass and hope, something she never had. It was strange that she had it  _now_ , of all times, when one of  _them_ was balls deep in her, but she held onto it anyway. 

After a few months, that hope boiled and festered inside her, turning from joy to anger to pure rage, and she stopped willingly volunteering. She bit them, she clawed at them, she smacked numerous guns away from her face. She managed to push one into the small furnace they used to cook food, laughing out of spite more than anything as he screamed, and the other that stood by panicked and attempted to pull him out, only to have his neck crushed by Vani repeatedly slamming the door on it.

The basement caught fire, but Vanessa was still laughing as she used his gun to blow open the lock to the slaves' door. The laughs turned into screams of rage as she used the blunt end to bash one of their heads in, and by the time she clawed one guys' eyes and throat out, she was hoarse and too damaged to do anything but shake. If there were any slavers left down there, they feared her more than they were afraid for their lives, because no one followed her out. 

 

"Hey, Cherry." someone said, rubbing her back. She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a back rub. It was nice.

"Mmn..." she whimpered. She was exhausted, though she just woke up.

"Hey, it's okay. You're okay." he cooed at her, and as she started to remember where she was, she started to feel more and more comfortable. She couldn't remember the last bed she slept on that was this soft. Or blankets that actually made her feel warm.

The only sound in the room was the soft squeaking of the rocking chair. Cherry turned to look at him, and he made a soft 'hmm?' 

She took his hand from where it was resting on her shoulder, holding it in hers. He gave her a reassuring squeeze, and she closed her eyes, attempting to fall asleep again.

 

This dream was much nicer. It was one of the rare moments when she wasn't pressured to study, or clean, or do anything. She was out by the temples, watching people duel and joke with each other. She had a book, a fiction book, about androids and inventors and such. Nothing happened, just sunshine and birdcalls. 

 

She slept in, and when she awoke it was Gran in the chair next to her, knitting. 

"Good morning. You missed breakfast, but I figured you could use the extra rest."

"Thanks." she whispered. 

"Mhm. Oh, Yolo went to pick up some paperwork, he said he'll be right back. You should eat something before you fall asleep again. Poor dear, you look exhausted."

Cherry stretched, and sighed in contentment when her joints popped. 

Gran followed her downstairs, and Lacey greeted her with a hello, and a hug. Neither of them pushed her to speak, and she was happy with listening to them chat about current events whilst she had some heated-up leftover stew. Even now, it was still heavenly. She resisted the urge to scarf it down, again. 

"The, ah, textiles shop on level three went out of business recently." Lacey said. "I... forget the name."

"Good, those lowlifes deserve it." Gran said, scowling into her tea.

"Mmm." she replied. "Took them a while, didn't it? I thought Morgan would've ran them out of town years ago.

There was a knock at the door and Gran moved to get it, but Lacey waved her off. It was just Yolo, carrying a sizeable stack of papers and folders. Cherry watched to make sure the locks were re-done.

Conversation continued on for a long while, until Cherry could feel herself falling asleep into her nearly-empty bowl. So close, yet so full...

"You alright?" he whispered, rubbing her hand with his thumb. 

"Nap?" she asked, leaning her head on his shoulder. She could probably fall asleep on him.

"I, um. You... want me to nap  _with_ you?"

"Mhmm." 

He was silent for a while, thinking. "I'll tell you what, we can lay on the couch together. I can do some work and you can get some rest. Sound good?"

"Ye."

She could tell he was worried, but she couldn't tell about what. Either way, he took his paperwork to the coffee table and she took their bowls to the sink, rinsing them out and setting them to dry.

He sat down and she laid across his lap, content. It occured to her that she was still wearing the hoodie he gave her last night, but she was probably never going to give it back. 

He cracked open a file, reading through its content whilst Gran and Lacey chatted on, and Cherry drifted off again. 

 

The first nightmare was of herself, wild and pumped full of adrenaline, biting and killing anyone who came too close. First it was the slavers, and she tore them apart until they resembled pulled pork. She couldn't control herself, ripping the trousers off one mutilated corps and biting its penis clean off, chewing and spitting it back out. Then came her parents, and her sister, and she bludgeoned them to death with rocks and sticks until they were pulp. Then it was Gran and Yolo, and she couldn't help it- she ripped them both in half, and was about to swallow them whole when she woke herself up with a startled jump. She was too exhausted to do much more than pass out again. 

The next nightmare wasn't as bad. Arguably.

It was her, with her parents, their faces morphed into some combination of their real faces, and monsters with sharp teeth and forked tongues. They were hovering over her, chanting.

"If you're not good, we'll sell you to the slavers."

Slavers poured in from every angle, from under the water and between wooden planks, behind support poles and even from her own parents mouths.

They overpowered her, holding her down and forcing themselves onto her, into her, forming a sick pile with her at the bottom.

"If you're not good, we'll sell you to the slavers."

They watched, and no matter how she tried she couldn't scream, or move, or cry.

"Not good enough, Vanessa."

She wanted to say she was sorry, to break down and promised to give away everything she owned, to make ridiculous promises and go to her limits to fulfill them, like always.

"You weren't good enough, Vanessa."

They poured over her, more fluid than flesh now, and there was a weight on her chest that refused to allow her to breathe.

**Author's Note:**

> a short little thing for a story im working on with my friends. the tags are just in case anything more descriptive comes up in later chapters, which will probably happen


End file.
